


Saints and Sinners

by TheIttyBitty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Gay Panic, M/M, Vampire Dean, Vampire Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2781770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIttyBitty/pseuds/TheIttyBitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a young Castiel befriends a man who may not be what he seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is like the first time i've written anything even remotely angsty. It's not great, but it's a first try.

  
Down the dark halls of St. Abdas Preparatory Boarding School, a shadow walks. It slides silently from one silent dorm room to another, listening intently at the doors. At each, it seems disappointed. If one were to be looking closely, one might see a slight slump of the shadow's shoulders after each door. It seems to be looking for something, but not finding it. It continues, practically invisible, down the corridor, until it reaches a door with a metal number 23 affixed to its front.

  
From beneath the door, a small amount of light spills, illuminating the very tips of the shadow's brown boots. The shadow listens at the door, longer than it listened at any of the others. Then, it's gone. The slightly darker shadow in the shape of a man is vanished, leaving only the uniform black of night.

  
Inside of room 23, a boy is awake. A boy with dark hair in need of a cut, with fair skin and chapped lips. He lays on his back, atop the light blue comforter covering his creaky twin bed, head resting gently on his worn pillow. In his hands, he has a book. It's hard backed, a light peach color covered in inked dogs. In swirling script, on the front cover, the book says “A Hundred and One Dalmatians”. The boy brings the book close to his face and breathes deep, letting the sweet, familiar smell of the paper and glue sooth him. His face relaxes and his eyes close, but he doesn’t sleep. Beneath the faded green of his Oscar the Grouch t-shirt, the boy's chest continues to rise and fall steadily. After a moment, the room is hit with a tang of salt and a tear slides down the side of the boy's impassive face.

  
Quite near the bed is a window, looking out over the trees. Through the window, the shadow watches, unseen.

 

  
  
The boy walks quickly, eager to get out of the sun that beats down on his back. When he finally gets inside the Arts building, he lets out a sigh of relief at the cool air that hits him like a wall. He meanders slowly down the hall, passing several classrooms full of boys. He doesn’t go into any of them though, instead he walks until he reaches the other side and exits through a door that opens onto a small dirt path. The boy walks down the path, passing into the forest that surrounds the school. After a while, he steps off the path into a copse of thick fir trees.

  
Inside the copse is cool, calm. The forest floor is covered in a soft layer of green fir needles and cones, and the air is thick with the spicy smell of them. The boy swings his worn backpack from his shoulder onto the ground, and pulls out a soft blanket covered in pink and blue sheep. He lays it out carefully on the ground before laying down on top of it and pulling a book out of his pack as well. It's the same book he was reading last night, pages dog eared and slightly stained with oil from years of being handled. Inside the front cover, names are written.

  
Cody Wilson  
Charlie Kyte  
Lisa Henson  
James

  
And his own, the only one not scratched out. In his own, looping handwriting, it says “Castiel Novak”. He doesn’t like to look at it, at the names scribbled there. It's just a reminder of home, which he doesn't need. He sighs and flips to where he has his page marked with a piece of old notebook paper. He clears his throat and begins to read:  
“As Pongo and Missis tiptoed to the back of the screen, they noticed that there was a large tea table beside Sir Charles on which was his luncheon tray – finished with now, and neatly covered by a table-napkin – and everything necessary for tea.”

  
He reads aloud to himself for a long time, getting smoother and more confident as he goes on. He reads until the sky begins to darken, dusk spilling over the wold like paint, covering the world in muted blues and purples. As the shadows begin to lengthen, Castiel fails to notice another, more human-like shadow joining the others just outside the copse. Unnoticed, it listens to the boy read.

 

  
  
It's right after Christmas before the shadow gets the courage to make itself known. Snow covers the ground thickly, laying in drifts here and there. There are no classes, and Castiel is outside. He's swept the snow off of a low stone bench in the gardens and is sitting there reading his book. He's not reading aloud, only mouthing the words softly to himself. They taste familiar in his mouth and bring him comfort. He's all wrapped up, swaddled in a coat, scarf, gloves, and hat. After a while though he gets frustrated with trying to turn the pages of the book while wearing the gloves and he takes them off and sets them on the bench beside him. He's cold, yes, but he needs this. He needs the snow, the wind, the outdoors. If he stays inside for long he always ends up feeling claustrophobic, caged up. So he sits there on the bench until his fingers grow numb and the sun begins to slide slowly toward the horizon. After what is perhaps hours, he hears the crunch of shoes on snow, but he thinks nothing of it. He's so absorbed in his book that he doesn’t even register when the footsteps stop nearby.

  
Eventually, a voice says, “You're going to get frostbite, you know.”

  
Startled, Castiel looks up. For the first time, he notices the man standing not two feet away. He's lovely: dirty blond hair, grass green eyes, full lips, and freckles. So many freckles. His dark coat is wrapped tightly around him, and his brown boots are covered with snow. Snowflakes settle on his shoulder and hair and Castiel thinks that in the growing dark he looks, perhaps, like a god of winter.

  
“Oh, I, uh... was having trouble turning the pages.” He admits sheepishly.

  
The man smiles. “Why not read inside?”

  
Castiel shrugs. “I like it out here.”

  
“Do you like it more than your fingers?”

  
Castiel frowns at the stranger. “I would have gone inside before things got too bad.”

  
“Your fingers are blue.” The man counters.

  
“What's your point?”

  
The stranger shakes his head. “Nothing.” He says. “Mind if I sit?”

  
Castiel shakes his head and the man sits down beside him.

  
”I'm Dean Winchester.” He holds out his hand for Castiel to take.

  
Dean's hand is cool, as he doesn’t have on gloves either. But they're soft, and Dean's handshake is firm. “Castiel Novak.” Castiel tells him. “I don't think I’ve seen you around.”

  
“I don't go here.” Dean says. “I just live nearby.”

  
“Oh,” Says Castiel. “Alright.”

  
“What are you reading?” Dean wonders, leaning toward Castiel.

  
Castiel turns the book toward him so that he can see the cover.

  
Dean nods. “A classic.” He says.

  
“It's my favorite.” He says, before he can think about it.

  
“You have good taste.” Dean muses.

  
“Thanks.” Castiel says, thankful that the chilly wind already has his cheeks flushed.

  
“How old are you?” Dean asks after a minute.

  
“Sixteen.” Says Castiel. “Why? How old are you?”

  
Dean grins. “Old.” he says.

  
Castiel scrunches his nose. “What, like twenty? Twenty-five?” He doesn't look old. He can't be more than a few years older than Castiel.

  
Dean throws his head back and laughs, it's genuine and deep, from his belly. “Something like that.” He says after he's finished laughing.

  
“Are you out of school?” Castiel asks.

  
“Yeah, I’m out of school.” Dean tells him.

  
“Okay.” Castiel says, noticing now that it has become quite dark. He can barely see the words on the white pages of his book now. “I'd better be going.” He says as he stands.  
Dean stands too. “Want company?”

  
Dean is beautiful, but that doesn’t stop his question from being odd. “Um, no.” Says Castiel. “I'm pretty close by. I'll see you later.” He gives Dean a smile and a wave as he hurries away.

 

  
  
Castiel seen Dean around, now that he knows to look. He's here and there around the grounds, but he doesn’t seem to talk to anyone besides Castiel and he only comes around after the sun begins to set. He's odd, Castiel thinks. Eccentric, maybe.

  
Castiel is sitting on the same bench as before, reading his book and eating a hot-pocket, the next time Dean sits down beside him.

  
“Are you even allowed to be here?” Castiel asks through a mouthful of ham and cheese. He finishes chewing and swallows. “I wasn’t aware they let people just come onto campus from off the street.”

  
Dean shrugs. “Nobody has stopped me yet.”

  
“Why are you even here?” Castiel wonders.

  
“I get bored.” Dean answers.

  
“You don't have anything else to do?”

  
Dean shakes his head. “Not really.”

  
“Sounds like you need a hobby.” Castiel says loftily.

  
“You don't go to class much, do you?” Dean asks.

  
“So what?”

  
“Just wondering.”

  
Castiel shrugs a shoulder noncommittally. “I still get good grades.”

  
“Doesn’t anyone notice you're never in class?”

  
“Not really.”

  
“Oh.”

  
They sit in silence for several long minutes. Castiel goes back to reading his book, deciding that Dean can continue the conversation if he wants, as he was the one who started it. Eventually, he does.

  
“What do you do on weekends?” He asks.

  
“Watch movies, mostly.” Castiel tells him without looking up from his book.

  
“You know, they have a movie theater in town.” Dean supplies.

  
“I've heard.” Says Castiel.

  
“You could go there.” Dean tries again.

  
“Why would I do that?” Castiel asks. “I have all the movies I need here, and I don't need to waste money going to the theater.”

  
He hears Dean let out a breath. “You could go with me.” The man says quickly. “I could take you.”

  
Castiel finally closes his book and looks up. “What are you doing?” He asks.

  
“What do you mean?” Dean wonders.

  
“I mean what I said.” Castiel tells him firmly. “What are you doing? Because it sounds like you're coming on to me, and that's really creepy. You want to know why?”

  
“Er, not really.” Dean says, scratching the back of his neck and refusing to look Castiel in the eye.

  
“Too bad. First off, I’m sixteen. I don't know how old you are, but you're out of school. That's weird.”

  
“I just-”

  
“Secondly, you know nothing about me and I know nothing about you except that you're always hanging around a boys school after dark. Weird.”

  
“But I-”

  
“And, you know, you seem like a nice guy, but you're kind of creepy.”

  
Dean ducks his head. “Ouch.” He says.

  
After a moment, Castiel sighs. “Sorry. That may have been a little harsh.”

  
“Well I- I mean... a little, but... sorry.” Dean says softly. “I didn’t mean to... creep you out.”

  
After some internal debate, Castiel reaches out and quickly pats the man on the shoulder. He says nothing.

  
“I just...” Dean says. “I get bored. And I don't really have... friends. I guess, I don't know, I sort of forgot how to make them.”

  
Castiel feels a pang of guilt, and another of pity, because he knows what it is to have no one. He knows how hard it is to form connections. “Is that all it was?” he asks.

  
“Yes.” Dean says, but his eyes dart away a little too quickly for Castiel to believe him. But, Castiel thinks, he could use a friend as well.  
“Well, maybe we _could_ see a movie this weekend.” He says finally.

  
Dean perks up.

  
“As friends.” Castiel clarifies.

  
Dean nods. “As friends.” he says.

  
  
That weekend, Dean picks Castiel up in a large black car just as dusk is falling. They drive to the movie theater in the nearby town and watch an action movie of the type that's interchangeable with just about every other action movie. They sit side by side and, despite Castiel's misgivings, share a large popcorn that Dean insists on paying for. It's nice to get out, to be in the company of another person, and afterward Castiel lets himself get talked into going to a nearby diner where he and Dean have apple pie. When Dean drops him off at the school, Castiel smiles at him and says, “This was nice. Thanks for inviting me out.”

  
Dean grins back and says, “Anytime.”

  
  
Dean is, for a fact, a bit odd, Castiel finds. He's a night owl, Castiel has never seen him about in the daylight. He loves pie a bit too much, but is ferocious in his hatred of garlic. He's very secretive, but sometimes when he isn’t paying attention he lets things slip, like the fact that he has a brother with whom he lives or that both of his parents are dead. Castiel, despite being initially suspicious, finds that he enjoys Dean company, no small amount.

  
He and Dean steadily begin spending more and more time together. One night, Castiel even sneaks Dean into his dorm room where lay side-by-side on Castiel's bed and watch Galaxy Quest on his laptop. The bed is so small that they're pressed right up against each other and, as Dean has taken off his coat, Castiel can feel the hard line of Dean's bicep against his arm and smell a sweet, musky scent wafting from the man. He has a strangely hard time concentrating on the movie.

  
Dean is fun, he's funny. He's sweet and loyal and, yes, a bit weird. Castiel finds himself missing the man when they're not together, wishing to hear his friend's laugh or feel his hand on his shoulder. Their friendship, despite its rocky start, is easy. They get along famously, and Castiel doesn’t feel so alone anymore.

  
In May, mere days before summer break, things change.

  
  
It's getting warm again. The snow has melted and the birds are chirping and Castiel has shed his coat. The weather is wet, the ground muddy and sodden, but Castiel doesn’t much mind. He and Dean are traipsing through the woods, dodging the lengthening shadows. Dean keeps having to stop and help Castiel over wet logs and giant mud puddles. Eventually, they come to a large lake. The water is clear and blue and a rickety wooden dock juts out toward the center. The two of them walk out onto the dock, admiring the sight of the rising moon on the glassy surface. Suddenly, Dean turns to him with a mischievous look in his eyes.

  
“Wanna go swimming?” He asks.

  
Castiel scrunches his nose. “Ew, no! Lakes are gross.”

  
“Aw, come on, Cas! Please!” He blinks his eyes and smiles wide in that way he knows Castiel can't say no too.

  
“Ugh, fine.” Castiel says, rolling his eyes. “But if I catch something, or get bit by a snake, it's your fault!”

  
“Don't worry,” Dean says, pulling his shirt over his head. “I'll protect you from snakes.”

  
Castiel starts to disrobe too, pointedly not looking at Dean, who's chest looks like it was chiseled from frickin' marble. When they're down to their boxers, Dean jumps in and beckons Castiel to do the same. After a moment's hesitation, he does. He comes up from underwater sputtering,

  
“Ew!” He whines, feeling the mud of the lake floor squish under his feet. “I was right, this is gross! It's going to _suck_ walking home!”

  
Dean laughs. “You're such a baby!” He says.

  
Castiel frowns and splashes water on Dean, who splashes him back. Soon, they're at war, splashing war and mud at each other until they're both soaked completely. The war continues until something slimy brushes Castiel's leg. He shrieks and lunges toward Dean, who catches him handily and hoists him closer, until Castiel is practically wrapped around him. It doesn’t occur to him until several moments later that this might be an odd position for friends to be in. Castiel has his arms around Dean's neck, head buried in the man's shoulder, legs wrapped tightly around his waist to keep away from the icky lake floor. By the time he realizes, Dean is laughing.

  
“You are _such_ a baby!” He says.

  
Castiel pulls back to look Dean in the face. “I am not!” He pouts.

  
Dean just smiles at him, eyelashes glittering with water, and then he's looking at Castiel's lips. He's leaning close, closer, until Castiel can count ever one of Dean freckles, of which he has many. Then, their lips are brushing.

  
If asked later, Castiel will claim that he was in shock, and this is the reason he didn't pull away, but it's not the truth. Dean presses in again, a little firmer this time, and now Castiel parts his lips slightly. Again and again, the kisses come, and Dean sighs into Castiel's mouth like he's coming home. Then, there's his tongue, gently seeking entrance and Castiel admits it immediately, his own tongue darting out to meet it. Dean's tongue traces Castiel's bottom lip softly, before he sucks it into his mouth. Then Dean's mouth moves to press kisses to the corner of Castiel's mouth, below his ear, his neck. He stops there, and sucks insistently on the soft skin of Castiel's throat.

  
It's the gentle press of teeth that does it, poking Castiel's skin. It doesn't hurt quite yet, but it snaps him out of it. He feels the water on his back, the nudge of Dean's erection against his thigh, the hot curl of his own arousal in his stomach, and he panics. He gasps and lurches away from Dean, shoving against the man's chest. Since his legs are still around Dean's waist, though, all that happens is that he falls back into the water.

  
He breaks the water coughing, stumbling toward the shore. The lake floor feels grosser than before, and he feels the sharp edges of rocks biting into his feet. Instead of arousal, there's now guilt and disgust curling in his stomach, and he wants to throw up.

  
Dean is there, then, his hand on Castiel's shoulder. “Are you okay?!” He asks frantically. “What's wrong?”

  
Castiel scrambles up onto the dock on his knees, drops his head into his hands. He hears Dean climbing up after him.

  
“I was supposed to get better.” He whispers.

  
“What?” Dean wonders, in front of him now.

  
“I was getting better!” Castiel says again. He lurches to his feet, grabbing his pile of dry clothes and running unsteadily along the dock toward the shore.

  
“Wait! Cas, wait!” Dean calls behind him, grabbing his own clothes.

  
Castiel does not wait, he stumbles away from the lake, back toward the woods. He doesn’t know where he's going though, because it's dark and he's crying and everything is terrible. Dean catches up with him pretty quickly, reaching out and grabbing his arm to make him stop running.

  
“Cas!” He says urgently. “What's going on?” He looks at his friend. “You didn't even put your shoes on, man, your feet are getting all fucked up.”

  
Castiel just shakes his head, tears continue to run down his face. He knows he must look ridiculous, standing in the middle of the woods at night wearing only sodden boxers. Dean, at least, has taken the time to pull his shirt over his head. But Dean is looking at him with only concern.

  
“Cas...” He says, gently pulling the boy closer until he can wrap his arms around him. Castiel goes, laying his head on Dean's shoulder before he can't keep the sobs back anymore. Dean holds him, running a soothing hand up and down his back.

  
“I'm not supposed to be this way.” Castiel whispers finally.

  
“What way?” Dean asks gently.

  
“I'm supposed to like girls.” Castiel says. He feels Dean stiffen. “I'm supposed to meet a girl and get married and have kids.” He continues. “I thought I was getting better. And then you...”

  
Dean is still, hand no longer rubbing soothing circles on Castiel's back. “There's nothing wrong with you.” He says finally.

  
“Yes, there is!” Castiel insists, raising his head and stepping back out of Dean's embrace.

  
“No, there's not!” Says Dean. “There's nothing wrong with being gay, Cas!”

  
Castiel shakes his head. “My parents-”

  
“What did they say?” Dean asks.

  
“I can't go home.” Castiel whispers. “I can't go home until I’m fixed. It's almost summer and I don't know what I’m going to do if I can't go home.”

  
Dean's eyes are fiery, his jaw working angrily. He reaches out and places a hand on either side of Castiel's face. “Fuck your parents, Cas. They're _wrong_. You can stay with me! I have money! I have- I have a _lot_ of money. You don't have to go home.”

  
Castiel's face crumples, a fresh wave of tears cascading down his face. “I _want_ to.” He says softly. “I _want_ to go home. I miss it. I miss my room and my bed and my books. And I miss my parents, and my little sister. I want to go home, Dean.”

  
Dean swallows and his adam's apple bobs heavily in his throat. In his face is a shadow of understanding, but it's eclipsed by another filled with anger and sadness. His thumbs brush the sensitive skin under Castiel's eyes, wiping away tears.

  
“Okay.” he says. “It's okay. Your parents... don't have to know. You can still go home.”

  
“But _I_ know.” Castiel tells him. “I know I’m still broken.”

  
Dean closes his eyes. “You're not broken, Cas. You're one of the best people I've ever met. Just.... remember that? Please?” When he opens his eyes again, they're wet. Tears well up in them, threatening to spill.

  
“I have to go.” Castiel says.

  
Dean lets his arms fall. “Yeah, okay.”

  
“I'll... see you. I guess.”

  
“Yeah.”

  
Castiel turns and makes his way to the path, to return to school, leaving Dean in the woods.


	2. Chapter 2

There are only a few days left until summer vacation, and Castiel doesn’t see Dean. He packs up his things, and he doesn’t see Dean. He heads to the bus stop, lugging his bags, and he doesn’t see Dean. He keeps thinking – hoping – that maybe he'll see him, that maybe Dean will come to say goodbye, but he doesn’t. The hope doesn’t really make sense, given what happened last time they saw each other Castiel should want to stay as far away from Dean as possible. But... he doesn’t. As much as he tries to convince himself that he doesn’t want to see Dean, he does. Badly. But Dean doesn’t show. Castiel gets on his bus, heart weighing heavily in his chest.

 

  
Going home isn’t like he thought it would be. His house is strange, too big and loud, too many people watching him. His room smells odd, unused, and his blankets aren’t as comforting as they once were. His parents, they look him strangely, and his sister doesn’t notice. They used to look at him with love, their only son, but now their eyes are judging... or empty. His birthday passes and pretend to be happy, but he can see the shadows beneath their smiles. Things are different now, so different. Once, he was the good child, always did what he was told. Then he'd been caught kissing Adam Brewer and suddenly he was _Wrong, Broken_. He'd heard Father Laney telling his mother that Castiel had the devil in him. That's why they'd sent him to St. Abdas', Catholic school, all boys. He'd be fixed there, they'd said. He'd be fixed.

  
But he's not fixed. Because Dean... Dean had kissed him, and Castiel had liked it. So, he isn’t fixed. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that it hadn’t seemed wrong. It had been... good. When he thinks about it, he feels happy, light. He likes Dean. He likes Dean. He feels one thing, but is told another, and he doesn't know what to do. What can he do?

 

  
  
August doesn’t come fast enough for Castiel, because home is all wrong and he misses Dean. They had never exchanged numbers, Dean was always just there, so they haven’t spoken since the end of last term. Castiel still isn’t sure what to do, but he at least misses Dean's company. When he gets off of the bus and makes his way to campus, he almost expects Dean to be there, but he isn’t.

  
Dean doesn’t show. A week passes and, although Castiel looks, he doesn’t see Dean at all. Two weeks, and Castiel begins to worry. He asks around campus, but no one has seen the man. At dusk, Castiel wanders around campus hoping to see his friend, but he doesn’t. After three weeks, Castiel goes in search of a phone book. He finds one eventually, behind the receptionist desk at the front office. He thumbs quickly through the yellowing pages while the lady behind the desk glares daggers at his forehead. Finally, he finds it! There's just one Winchester in the surrounding area, and it's Dean. There's his name, next to a phone number and a street address.

  
Castiel puts the number and address into his phone, and leaves the building. Outside, he calls the number, but it doesn’t even ring, just goes straight to tone. Castiel frowns and hangs up, weighs his phone in hand thoughtfully. He has classes he should be at, but that's never stopped him before. He looks up the address given in the phone book and starts off toward town.

  
The address is pretty close by, but it's still about a twenty minute walk and Castiel's shirt is sticking to his damp skin by the time he reaches Oak Street. His feet are hurting and he's beginning to get a little grumpy when he reaches the address.

  
He looks up at the house, at the address painted on the stone mailbox, and back at his phone. This can't be the right house. But, when he checks again, the address is still right. He looks up again, and swallows.

  
The house is huge, even set back from the road and guarded by massive, ancient willow trees Castiel can see that it's enormous. Crumbling black spires jut through the top of the surrounding foliage and, through the trees, Castiel can see a glimpse of house, dark and old. A tall black, spiked metal fence surrounds the grounds, and the mailbox is made of crumbling stone.

  
Castiel steps forward and pushes open the gate set into the front of the fence, when he shuts it behind himself with whines ominously and it takes everything Castiel has in him not to turn and leave now. The wide driveway is shadowed by the tall willows, making the long walk up to the house an ominous affair. The front of the house is overrun with vines and moss, obstructing the view of most of the dark gray bricks that make up the house. The front door is massive mahogany, a dark red, almost black. In the middle of it sits an enormous pewter knocker shaped like the head of a lion.

  
Castiel ascends the three stone steps up to the big door, raises his hand, and knocks twice. The sound of his knocks are swallowed by big door, and he's worried that no one could have heard them. He raises his hand to knock again, but before he can, the door creeks open.

  
The man standing in the open doorway now looks like more of a corpse than anything else. He's old, very old, with wispy white hair and sunken cheeks and more wrinkles than Castiel has ever seen on a person. His eyes are like yellowing parchment swallowing up the small black pools that are his irises. His hand, holding the door open, thin and pale. Liver spots litter his translucent skin like craters. In a low, reedy voice like nails on a chalkboard, the man says, “Can I help you?”

  
“Ah, um,” Castiel fumbles. “Maybe I have the wrong address. I'm, um, looking for the Winchester's house?”

  
“Yes.” The elderly man says slowly. “This is the Winchester residence.”

  
“Oh,” Castiel says, surprised. “Um, is Dean here?”

  
The old man blinks. “Master Dean is indisposed at the moment, but if you'd like to leave a message...”

  
“Well, I mean, can you just... tell him I’m here? I'd just really like to talk to him. Please?”

  
The old man is still, he sighs, and Castiel gets the distinct feeling that he'd like to be rolling his eyes.

  
“Yes, very well.” He says finally, taking a step back from the door. “Come in.”

  
Castiel follows him through the door, into an enormous foyer with dark gray walls and a curved staircase ascending upward to a landing on the second floor. From there, the old man leads Castiel into a room off to the left. The walls here are the color of coagulated blood. Long couches and overstuffed chairs are set about the room, in seemingly random patterns. On the far wall a fire burns in a stone chimney, casting the room in flickering light. There are only a few windows here, and they're covered over with thick, dark curtains.

  
“Have a seat.” Says the old man. “I will be back in a moment.”

  
Castiel watches him leave before taking a seat on a dark blue couch, speckled with yellow flowers so small they first look like spots. He sits there for several minutes picking his nails before he hears footsteps.

  
He looks up, thinking it's going to be Dean, but it isn’t. It's a very tall man with dark, shaggy hair, passing the doorway. About halfway across, he freezes and looks into the room. Castiel gives a small, nervous wave.

  
The man looks to his left, and to his right. Seeing no one else around, he steps into the room.

  
“Hello.” He says.

  
“Hi.” Says Castiel.

  
“What are you doing here?”

  
“Oh, I just came to see Dean.” Castiel says. “I think the old man went to get him.”

  
The tall man steps closer, until they're only about a foot apart. He holds out his hand. “I'm Sam.” he says.

  
Castiel stands and takes Sam's hand to shake. “Castiel.” He says, and sits back down.

  
“ _Oh_.” Says Sam, taking a seat next to Castiel on the couch. “ _You're_ Castiel! It's good to meet you!”

  
“It's good to meet you too!” Castiel says, taken aback by Sam's sudden enthusiasm, and the fact that he seems to know who Castiel is. “You must be... Dean's brother? Right?”

  
“Right!” Sam tells him. “I'm the baby. So, are you back at school? You go to St. Abdas, don't you?”

  
“Um, yes.” Castiel says, wondering how Sam knows where he goes to school. “I've been back a few weeks now. I hadn't seen Dean and we never exchanged phone numbers so I thought I’d come see if he was alright.”

  
“Ugh, he doesn’t even _have_ a cell. He thinks he's like, allergic to technology or something, I swear. I went and bought him an I-phone a few years ago, he never even touched it. It's in his _sock drawer_.” Sam rolls his eyes. But then he snaps his fingers and smiles. “But if _you_ asked him I bet he'd get one.”

  
“I don't know about that.” Castiel says, stubbornly ignoring the blush that tries to rise in his cheeks at the implication.

  
Sam shakes his head. “He totally would! He only talks about you like _all the time_ , I bet he'd even start texting for you! Oh my god,” he says, face full of excitement. “we could bring him into the 21st century!”

  
“He talks about me?” Castiel asks quietly.

  
Sam stills, smile wavering a little. “Well... um, yeah.” He says. “You guys are.... friends, right?”

  
And it makes sense that, even if Dean talks about him all the time, he wouldn’t tell his brother about what happened at the lake right before summer break. Why would he? Castiel takes a deep breath and nods, forcing a smile onto his face. “Yeah.”

  
Sam opens his mouth to say something more, but just then another figure appears in the doorway. It's Dean, looking... tired. He's more pale than Castiel remembers him being, and thinner. He has dark circles under his eyes and his hair looks unwashed. He's in his pajamas, loose pants and a band shirt, with a dark blue robe over top. His feet are bare.

  
“Cas.” He breathes.

  
Castiel stands, but stays where he is. “Hello, Dean.” He says.

  
Dean stays where he is too, but Castiel sees his fingers twitch, wanting to touch. He watches hope flit across the man's face, and suddenly he feels bad for coming here. He shouldn’t give Dean hope, because they can't be together in the way that Dean wants.

  
_Why not_? Says a small voice inside Castiel's head. _Why cant you be together? He wants you, you want him..._

  
But no, that's wrong. Isn't it? Isn't it wrong to want that?

  
_Says who?_ The voice wonders.

  
Says the church, Castiel supplies. And, and the bible and all that.

  
_You've never been strong in the faith,_ The voice whispers. _You're just going through the motions, just pretending. Why deny yourself love?_

  
Love? Is it love? It's too soon to tell. He can't be sure. But... maybe. Maybe it could be. With a start, he realizes that the voice inside his head is right, he doesn’t really believe, he's just been pretending for the sake of his family. But it doesn’t really matter anymore. They don't even really want him anymore, now that they know who he is. One thing, one fact about him, has made them hostile and cold toward him. His own family believes that he has the devil in him. Dean... Dean would never do that. Castiel feels it, deep down.

  
Then, Castiel realizes that he and Dean have been staring at each other across the room this whole time. Sam is looking back and forth between the two of them, a confused look on his face.

  
Castiel swallows, and Dean speaks. “Hey, Sammy, mind giving us a minute?”

  
“Huh? Oh, yeah sure.” Sam says, getting up. He gives Castiel a small smile, and strides quickly from the room.

  
Castiel is still for several long minutes before slowly, purposely, taking a step forward. Dean blinks, and takes one also. Castiel takes another, and so does Dean. They continue this way until they're mere inches apart.

  
“Hi.” Says Castiel.

  
Dean's eyes are searching, longing. “Hey.” he says.

  
Then, because he needs to, Castiel steps forward and throws his arms around Dean.

  
Dean folds into him, wrapping his arms around Castiel's back and holding him close. He turns his face into Castiel's neck. “I missed you.” He mumbles.

  
“You didn’t come say goodbye.” Castiel says into Dean's shoulder.

  
It's a few long seconds before Dean speaks again. “I thought you might not want to see me. After what happened.”

  
Castiel pulls Dean tighter. “I'm sorry.” He says. “I'm so sorry.”

  
Dean shakes his head into Castiel's shoulder. “No, no no. I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have... I should have asked or- or something. I shouldn’t have just assumed that you... I'm so sorry, Cas. I fucked everything up and I won't do anything like that again, I swear. I just... I missed you a lot.”

  
Castiel takes a deep breath and leans back, pulling away a little. When Dean raises his head his eyes are full of worry.

  
Now, now is when Castiel makes his choice. His family, his religion, or Dean? No, not even that. It's about what he wants. About whether he wants to go back to a house where people look at him strangely and he has to pretend to be something he's not, or if he wants to kiss Dean. He wants to kiss Dean.

  
He closes his eyes, takes another deep breath and, for the first time, he lets himself have what he wants.

  
When their lips touch, Castiel hears Dean's breath stutter. He leans into it, searching, wanting. He feels the softness of Dean's lips, the girth of his tongue. He plunges deeper, harder, sucking and biting and grasping. He can hear Dean breathing heavily, feel the man's vise like grip on his hips, and he wants it. He wants all of it, and he wants it now. He buries his fingers in Dean's hair, raking his nails gently over his scalp, and he feels the man moan into his mouth. How he ever lived without this, Castiel doesn’t know.

  
Dean's robe is on the floor in a pile and Castiel is pulling Dean urgently backward toward the blue couch. Dean goes pliantly, following after Castiel like a puppy, eyes full of amazement. When Castiel lays back on the couch and pulls Dean over him, the man stills.

  
“Are you sure you want this?” He asks breathlessly. “I thought you were... that you didn’t...”

  
Castiel surges upward, capturing Dean's red lips with his own, once, twice. “I want you.” He says.

  
Dean nods dazedly and they go back to kissing, slower than before. The buildup, this time, is deeper. They're both hard and Dean's hip are rocking back and forth pressing their lengths together insistently. Dean doesn’t move to get either of their dicks out, he just kisses, strokes Castiel's face while the boy explores his torso. He kisses down Castiel's neck, like before, and goes to work insistently on the space between the boy's shoulder and throat. Castiel feels himself getting closer and closer to climax, to the top of that wonderful peak. He thinks Dean is almost there too, because he's huffing and moaning above Castiel, sucking harder and harder on his delicate skin. When Castiel comes, he closes his eyes and holds tight to Dean. Dean is there, Dean is solid, an anchor. Dean comes moments later and Castiel suddenly feels a sharp pain at his throat. He gasps, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear right away, he just slumps over Castiel.

  
Castiel lets Dean lay on top of him for a minute, but the pain in his throat is really killing the mood.

  
“Um, Dean?” He says hesitantly.

  
“Hmm?” The man says lazily.

  
“Did you bite me?”

  
He feels Dean stiffen above him and the man pushes himself up onto his hands quickly. When he sees Castiel's neck, his eyes widen.

  
“Oh shit!” He says. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry. Hold on, let me get-” He stumbles off of the couch and out of the room, legs still not quite working right. He reappears a few minutes later with a dish towel. While he's been gone, Castiel has sat up and Dean falls onto the couch next to him and presses the towel to the bleeding skin.  
“I'm so sorry.” He says again, earnestly. “I just... got caught up. I'm so sorry.”

  
“It's okay, Dean.” Castiel assures him. “It's not _that_ bad.”

  
“Yes, it is! You just came back and I’ve already fucked things up again! Fuck! Sammy!” He stands up and goes to the door, calling for his brother again. “Sam!”

  
A minute later, Sam comes through the doorway. “What?” He asks.

  
Dean pulls him to the side and they begin to whisper, lower than Castiel can hear, until, “You did what?!” Sam cries.

  
Dean shushes him quickly and whispers some more, but Sam's eyes flicker to Castiel, who blushes brilliantly, and tries to arrange himself so that Dean's brother won't see the wet spot at the front of his jeans.

  
After a few minutes that are really pretty boring for Castiel, the brothers come back over. Dean cups Castiel's cheek and runs his thumb over Castiel's bottom lip. With a start, Castiel realizes that Dean's hand is shaking.

  
Dean takes a step back. “I've got to, uh-”

  
“Yeah, I’ve got it.” Sam says.

  
Dean all but sprints out of the room, and Sam sighs and turns to Castiel, who is staring at where Dean has vanished with a perplexed look on his face.   
“Um,” Says Sam. “He's got kind of a... thing... about blood.” He says, reaching down to lift up towel. He hums thoughtfully. “It's not that bad.”

  
Castiel huffs. “Yeah, that's what I said.”

  
“Heh, okay, why don't I show you to the bathroom and you can, um, clean up.”

  
Castiel's face goes scarlet. Sam has definitely noticed the wet spot. He is, however, grateful for the suggestion. He gets up and follows Sam back into the foyer, and then down the hall.

  
“Here it is.” Sam says, stopping at a door that looks, to Castiel, like any other. “I'll get you some clean clothes. Also there's band-aids in the cupboard, as well as antiseptic.” He starts to back away, then stops. “And I’m, I’m glad you guys worked it out.” He says. “Dean really likes you.”

  
“Thanks.” Castiel mumbles, and slips inside the bathroom. He cleans the bite first, washing it out and covering it with an huge tan band-aid. About that time there's a knock at the door, and Sam's muffled voice comes through the door.

  
“I'm leaving some clothes outside the door here.” He says, and then his footsteps are clicking away.

  
Castiel gets the clothes (and a plastic bag that Sam has left on top) and pulls his soiled pants and boxers off. They go into the bag, and he pulls the clean pair of pants on. They're a little too big for him, they hang loosely off of his hips. There's a clean shirt too, and Castiel doesn’t really need it, but it smells like Dean and Castiel has seen the man wearing it before so he strips off his own and pulls Dean's on.

  
When he comes out of the bathroom he's alone. There's no one else in the long, dark hall. His footsteps echo oddly as he makes his way back to the room with all the couches. Dean is there, leading against the side of the fireplace, looking at the pictures that stand on the mantel. Castiel sets his bag of dirty clothes on the floor and goes to stand by Dean, who taps on one of the frames.

  
“That's my mom.” He says. The picture is of a beautiful woman with long blond hair. She's dressed in what could be considered “hippie” garb, a long brown skirt, a fringed top, a rainbow headband. She's smiling wide, her arm swung around a man. It takes a moment for Castiel to place who it is, because the picture looks old, worn, but it's Dean. He looks just as he does now, not a day older, but...

  
“When was this picture taken?” He wonders.

  
Dean doesn’t answer right away. He picks absently at the stone of the fireplace. “Cas,” He says. “Would you still like me if you found out I was different than you thought?”

  
Castiel frowns. “Depends on the situation, I think. Are we talking, like, “I like to wear dresses in my downtime” or “Secretly I’m a murderer”? Because those are very different situations.”

  
Dean looks over at him for the first time since Castiel walked into the room. He looks like he's about to say something, but then he sees what Castiel is wearing and his mouth stretches into a smile. “You're wearing my clothes.” He says.

  
Castiel ducks his head. “Yeah. They, uh, they smell nice.”

  
Dean's smile widens. “You look good in them.” He steps closer and plucks at the band of Castiel's too-big pants. “Cute.”

  
Castiel smiles back.

  
“Look, just, are you really sure you want to get involved with someone like me?” Dean wonders. “You're only sixteen, you should probably explore your options a little more before dating an old man like me.”

  
Castiel rolls his eyes. “I'm seventeen now. My birthday is in July.” He says. “And, if you recall, you came on to me first. And I don't know why you keep calling yourself old, Dean, you can't be that old. How old are you, anyway?”

  
“See? You don't know anything about me, I could be a huge creep.”

  
Castiel steps back and crosses his arms over his chest, not at all happy with the way this is going. “I don't know much about you because _you refuse to answer my questions_! You're always deflecting!”

  
Dean drops his eyes. “Cas, I just... I don't think you'd like me if you knew who I really was.”

  
Castiel huffs. “Really? You're doing this now? I thought we were finally getting things worked out.”

  
Dean rubs his eyes. “Yeah, I just- I want you to know what you're getting into, that's all.”

  
“But _you haven’t told me anything!_ You just keep vaguely hinting at things and, frankly, it's pissing me off!” Castiel sighs. “Maybe I should go.” He turns and starts to walk away.

  
Dean catches him before he get's more then a step away, hand on Castiel's arm.

  
“Cas, wait! Don't go. Please? I really did miss you while you were gone.” And he looks so sad, like a kicked puppy.

  
Castiel turns back and leans close to hug him, wrapping his arms around Dean's middle. “I'll stay.” He mumbles. “But you have to quit being a cryptic douchewad.”

  
Dean laughs, chest rumbling happily against Dean's. “Deal.”

  
Castiel stays. Dean makes supper and he, Castiel, and Sam eat in the large, chrome filled kitchen.

 

  
  
They're not quite dating, or, maybe they are. Castiel isn’t really sure. He and Dean spend a lot of time together, much like they did last year, but they also kiss now and sometimes... rub against each other. But Dean is still odd and secretive, always deflecting Castiel's questions. He also keeps acting like he has something to tell Castiel, but he never does and it's getting frustrating.

  
Now, for instance, they're making out pretty heavily on a couch in the den (which is a completely different room than the one with all the couches, as this one has a 40 inch flat screen tv). Dean is laying over Castiel, tracing the bulge in his jeans gently with the fingers of his left hand. Castiel bucks upward, trying to get more contact, but Dean keeps his touch light.

  
Castiel bites his bottom lip and whines. “ _Please_.”

  
Dean chuckles, but he doesn’t increase the pressure.

  
“You don't have to be so careful with me.” Castiel huffs. “I'm not made of glass!”

  
Dean hums against Castiel's cheek. “I shouldn’t even be doing this much.” He murmurs. “You're so young.”

  
And Castiel has really had enough of this. Frustratedly, he sits up, pushing Dean off of him.

  
“What's wrong?” Dean wonders.

  
“Seriously?!” Castiel growls. “Look, if you think I’m too young, why are you even doing this, huh? Why are we doing this?”

  
“I- I don't think you're too young.” Dean says meekly.

  
“Really, because you're _constantly_ bringing up my age! And there's all this weird secrecy and, you know what, I’m done with it!” He slides his feet off of the sofa and stands.

Dean reaches out to grab his hand.

  
“Cas, wait, come on.” He implores.

  
“Tell me what's going on with you.” Castiel demands.

  
Dean opens his mouth, and then he closes it again. His eyes are big and Castiel thinks meanly that he looks like a fish.

  
“That's what I thought.” Castiel says, wrenching his hand away and striding out the door.

  
He makes it to the foyer before he meets Sam, who takes one look at him and asks, “What's wrong?”

  
“Your brother is jerk, that's what!” Castiel spits.

  
“What did he do?” Sam wonders.

  
“Just, always with the secrets!” Castiel tells him. “Everything is this great big fuckin' mystery that I’m not allowed in on and I'm sick of it!”

  
“Cas,” Sam says soothingly. “Look, I'm sure Dean will tell you eventually. He loves you, okay? He's been crazy about you for years and-”

  
“Wait, _what?!_ ”

  
From the direction Castiel came, comes a strangled sound, and he turns to find Dean has come into the foyer behind him. Castiel turns to him. “You _love_ me?!”

  
Dean goes pale, his throat swallows convulsively. “I-”

  
“And what the fuck do you mean, “years”?” He asks, turning back to Sam. “I met him over Christmas break.”

  
This time, it's Sam's turn to go pale. His eyes flick from Castiel to Dean and back. He says nothing.

  
“What does he mean?” Castiel asks Dean.

  
“Wha- I- uh” Dean stutters. “I saw you around a little”

  
“You “saw me around”?” Castiel says incredulously.

  
Dean nods furiously, but Castiel can his fingers twitch. “I saw you and- and I thought you seemed like a cool guy.”

  
“Bullshit.” Castiel spits. He thinks for a second. “You _watched_ me, didn’t you?” He's not one hundred percent sure, of course, but he takes the shot and it hits home. He watches Dean's eyes go wide and a muscle in his cheek twitches.

  
“I- no! I just,” He stops and rubs his hand over his mouth, Castiel notices that his hand is shaking. “I didn’t- I mean...” he raises his eyes to meet Castiel's for the first time in a few minutes. “I heard you.” He whispers. “Reading in the woods.”

  
A jolt of fear spikes through Castiel. “You were in the woods... _spying on me?!_ ”

  
Dean looks at him imploringly. “Cas...”

  
“No!” He says, backing up toward the door. “I thought- I thought we had something, but you're just a creep!” He reaches the door and swings it violently open. He barely notices when Dean and Sam both flinch back from the light. “Don't talk to me anymore.” He tells Dean, and he steps out.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel misses Dean, he does. He misses him a lot. But every time he starts thinking about going to see how the man is doing, he reminds himself that Dean is a massive creep who fucking _spied on him in the woods_ , and he doesn’t miss the man quite so much. That's what he tells himself, at least, but really the ache is still there. He stays inside, worried that Dean will be around the grounds. God, he even starts _going to class_ , which isn’t something he's ever bothered with before. His grades go up a little, but at what cost?

  
On the upside though, he starts making friends, which is another thing he's never bothered with. He meets a red-haired genius named Charlie, who gets him into Game of Thrones and a boy from England named Balthazar who has a frankly frightening collection of vintage lamps. It's odd, having friends, hobbies. It fills the empty space that Dean left behind, but in a different way, perhaps a healthier way. There are less jagged edges anymore, when he's with his friends. He starts going out during the day, LARPing with Charlie, flee-markets with Balthazar. He gets tanner, stronger, and he doesn’t see Dean. He thinks about him though, quite a bit. He's always there, just in the back of Castiel's mind, but less sharp than before. He wonders how Dean is doing, and Sam too, but he doesn’t go and see them.

  
It's the next December before he sees Dean again.

  
It's 11pm on a Saturday and Castiel is at the One Rose Diner with Charlie and Balthazar. Charlie has her laptop out on the table, plate of syrup drowned pancakes pushed to one side, playing some game which apparently involves a lot of cursing at the screen. Castiel sits next to her, watching her play and eating his chicken sandwich. Balthazar is across from them, talking loudly about one of his recent lamp acquisitions through a mouthful of Charlie's pancakes.

  
“Dodge! Dodge!” Castiel says animatedly.

  
“Fuck!” Says Charlie. Onscreen, she's shot in the leg by a man with a rifle. “Goddamn it! Goddamn you, you stupid piece of shit!” She pounds the keys furiously.

  
Castiel doesn’t notice right away when a shadow falls over their table, but then Balthazar says, “Hello there.”

  
A spine tinglingly familiar voice says. “Hi.”

  
It's one word, but Castiel knows that voice like he knows his own. He turns quickly and, sure enough, there's Dean. Standing there at the end of their booth, looking beautiful as ever.

  
“Hey, Cas.” He says.

  
“Hi Dean.” Castiel says dazedly. He can feel his friends watching him, trying to figure out who this man is, but he keeps his eyes on Dean.

  
“You look good.” Dean says after a minute.

  
“Thanks.” Castiel replies. “You look... pale.”

  
Dean huffs a small laugh. “Don't I always?”

  
Castiel shrugs. “What are you doing here?” Because if Dean is spying on him again, goddamn it, they are going to have _words_.

  
“Oh, I’m just here with-” He starts to jerk his thumb over his shoulder, but then Sam is sidling up as well.

  
“Hey, Cas!” He says happily.

  
“Hi Sam.”

  
“Do you eat here often?” Sam wonders, and Castiel sees Dean elbow him in the ribs.

  
“Sometimes.” Castiel tells him, amused. He'd expected to feel bad when he saw Dean again, to feel that pain spike through his chest, but he doesn’t. He remembers before he and Dean ever kissed, ever anything, they were friends once. “You guys want to sit with us?”

  
Dean's eyes light up. “Sure! If you don't mind.”

  
Castiel shakes his head. “It's fine.” He says.

  
Sam sits across from Castiel, next to Balthazar, and Dean pulls a chair from an empty table to sit at the end of the booth, catty-corner from Castiel.  
“This is Dean and Sam.” He introduces his friends to the brothers. “And this is Charlie and Balthazar.”

  
Oddly, his two friend groups get along great. Sam is unusually interested in Balthazar's lamp talk and Balthazar, ecstatic at having someone to talk to that isn’t bored out of their mind, is taking full advantage of the situation. Dean and Charlie quickly hit it off, and Dean takes interest in her game, despite the fact that Sam had said once that Dean hates technology. Castiel thinks, though, that Dean is at least partially using the situation so that he can lean close to Castiel in an attempt to see Charlie's computer. In fact, Castiel catches Dean smelling his hair once. He slaps Dean on the arm.

  
The night is surprisingly fun, and Castiel is left with a full belly and a light heart. As Charlie, Castiel, and Balthazar walk home, Charlie begins her interrogating.  
“So, did you date that Dean guy or something?” She asks abruptly.

  
Castiel sputters. “Wh- what makes you think that?”

  
She smiles at him knowingly. “The way he looked at you, and the way you looked at him. And the fact that he was _all_ over you. Seemed like maybe you had history, that's all."

  
Castiel sighs. “Kind of? Maybe? We sort of pseudo-dated for a while, but it didn’t really work out.”

  
“What happened?” Balthazar wonders.

  
“Just... differences.” He tells them, surprisingly not wanting to talk bad about Dean.

 

  
The next week, Castiel sees Sam at the grocery store. It's odd, because this is only the second time that Castiel has seen Sam out of the house. It's evening, purple blush spreading out over the town, and Castiel is at the grocery store getting juice.

  
Then, there's Sam, also getting juice. The fluorescent lights make his skin seem even whiter than it is. They talk a bit, about Castiel's school and friends, and then Sam says, “He's a mess, you know? He misses you a lot.”

  
Castiel sighs. “Yeah, well, he needs to stop keeping so many secrets and, you know, stalking people. Maybe he needs to get out more, get hobbies. That's what I did, and I feel great!”

  
Sam nods. “I know. You look it, you look happier.”

  
“I am.” Castiel tells him. “I do miss Dean, but I don't think our relationship was very good.”

  
Sam frowns, but stays silent.

  
Castiel fiddles with his jug of apple juice. “Look,” He says. “Let me give you my number. And, you know, if Dean ever gets a phone he can have it too.”

  
Sam brightens and pulls out his phone, quickly punching in the number he's given. He immediately shoots off a text to make sure he got the number right, and Castiel receives a message comprised of only a smiley face.

  
He laughs. “Okay, cool. Anyway, I've got to go.” He waves to Sam, and leaves.

  
He texts Sam a bit after that. Sam is good, open, much more honest than Dean is. Then, one day, he gets a text from an unknown number.

  
**[Unknown Number]**   
**I gt a phone**

  
**[Castiel Novak]**   
**Who is this?**

  
**[Unknown Number]**   
**Dean**

  
**[Castiel Novak]**   
**Oh, alright. What kind of phone did you get?**

  
**[Dean Winchester]**   
**Sam gt me an iphone. I dnt know how o wrk it. The buttons ar too smll**

  
Castiel laughs aloud thinking of Dean struggling with the buttons on a new phone.

  
**[Castiel Novak]**   
**You'll get used to it.**

  
**[Dean Winchester]**   
**:(**

  
**[Dean Winchester]**   
**Did I do tha right? Was spposed to be a sad face**

  
**[Castiel Novak]**   
**Yeah, I got that. :p**

  
**[Dean Winchester]**   
**Whts that?**

  
**[Castiel Novak]**   
**It's a person sticking out its tongue**

  
**[Dean Winchester]**   
**Oh thats werd**

  
**[Castiel Novak]**   
**Don't you know how to spell?**

  
**[Dean Winchester]**   
**Dnt make fn of me I have big fingers**

  
**[Dean Winchester]**   
**Do you wnt to do smthin this weeknd?**

  
Castiel deliberates. He's not sure it would be a good idea, but he's spent a while away from Dean and he'd like to see how the man is doing.

  
**[Castiel Novak]**   
**Okay**

  
**[Dean Winchester]**   
**:D**

  
They go to the mall in town, Castiel needs to buy Christmas gifts anyway, and walk around for a long time. It's easy, they fall back into friendship quickly, like fitting into an old glove. A few times Dean makes aborted movements that Castiel thinks are almost kisses, or moves to hold his hand, but he apparently remembers in time that they're not going out and restrains himself. At the end of the night, Dean drops Castiel back off at school, leaving with a wave.

  
A few days later, Castiel gets a text from Dean.

  
**[Dean Winchester]**   
**Hey wht are you doin for christms?**

  
**[Castiel Novak]**   
**Nothing planned. Why?**

  
**[Dean Winchester]**   
**Was thnking you could pend it with us?**

  
**if u want**   
**[Castiel Winchester]**   
**That sounds good, actually. I'll be there**

  
  
On Christmas day Dean picks Castiel up in his big black car and they drive back to the house where they're greeted by a Santa hat wearing Sam and a tired looking butler (whose name Castiel still doesn’t know). Dean makes hot chocolate and the three of them watch The Christmas Story. It's nice, warm. It feels good. When Dean drops him back off at school at one in the morning, he parks.

  
“Cas,” He says. “I'm sorry for everything that happened. I didn't... I didn't really think I was doing anything wrong when I, you know, sort of followed you, I guess. I just sort of wanted to know you better and I didn't think... well, I guess I just didn't think. I'm so sorry.”

  
Castiel watches him, the heaviness in his eyes, the downward tilt of his mouth. “I know.”

  
“It was true though.” Dean says after a minute of silence.

  
“What?” Castiel wonders.

  
He watches Dean swallow, his hands tighten around the steering wheel. “I do love you.” He says quietly.

  
“Maybe I love you too.” Castiel says. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

  
“It doesn’t?”

  
“No. I can't be in a relationship that's just a bunch of lies, Dean, where you just constantly keep secrets. It's not good and I can't do it.”

  
Dean turns to look out the front window. He sighs. “Yeah, okay.”

  
“I'm sorry.” Castiel tells him. He knows that Dean isn’t going to share whatever secrets he has, and he's done trying to get them out of the man.

  
Dean nods. “Me too.”

  
“I'll see you.” Says Castiel.

  
“Bye Cas.” Dean replies.

 

  
  
Castiel doesn’t go home for summer break, his family doesn’t want him and he doesn’t want them anymore either. Well, he does, but they're not going to accept him and he can't keep pretending that he's something he's not. Instead, he spends the summer with Charlie, who lives a few hours away with her single aunt. It's the best summer Castiel thinks he's ever had. He and Dean continue to text, too, so he doesn’t miss the man quite so much. He feels so much freer, not having to go back to his parents, like he can finally be who he wants.

  
When they return to school Castiel is very aware that it's their last year. The last time he'll have to be here. He's almost out. His friends all spend a lot of time together now, Charlie has even been inside the Winchester's creepy house, which she was pretty stoked about.  
Everything goes swimmingly, until a sunny day in October when Castiel gets a phone call from Sam.

  
“Hello?”

  
_“Cas, Cas can you come over?”_ Sam says, his voice is strange, it sounds choked.

  
“What's wrong?”

  
_“It's Dean! He's- he's hurt really bad!”_ He's crying, Castiel realizes. Sam is crying.

  
“I'll be right there!” He says. “Have you called an ambulance?”

  
Castiel hears a sob, and then Sam says something that he can't make out. “Just call an ambulance.” Castiel tells him. “I'm on my way!”

  
He runs. He runs all the way to the Winchester house and he feels like he might die but he doesn’t have a car and he needs to get there. The door is open when he gets there, and he barrels in unannounced. The old man is there, and for the first time there's emotion on hid face, it looks like fear.

  
“Come.” He says, grasping Castiel by the elbow and pulling him toward the large staircase. “Quickly.”

  
Castiel has never actually been on the second floor before, and he finds it a maze of hallways and rooms. Thankfully, they don't go far. The old man pulls Castiel through a door and into a large, ornate bedroom. It's very dark, the lights are turned off, but Castiel can make out an enormous canopied bed and Sam is standing over it wringing his hands.

  
“Cas!” Sam says when he sees them come in.

  
Castiel walks quickly to the bed, afraid of what he might find. He's right to be afraid, it seems. Dean is there, laying on top of the covers, looking like death. He's paler than usual, and a trickle of blood is running out of his nose, but that's not the worst of it by far. The left half of his body is burned, bad. He's been stripped of his shirt, and the skin is blackened and cracking, red oozes out from between the chunks of burned flesh.

  
Castiel gags and turns away, feeling the sudden urge to run, as far and as fast as he can. “Did you call an ambulance?” He asks Sam, who is standing there with tears dripping from his chin.

  
To Castiel's disbelief, he shakes his head. “Can't.” He chokes out.

  
Castiel turns to the old man. “You! Call 911!” He orders. The old man just purses his lips.

  
“He needs blood!” Sam sobs.

  
“What, like a transfusion? They have those _at the hospital_!” Castiel says in disbelief. Why are they just standing there? Why aren’t they doing anything? He likes Sam a lot, but he's being so unhelpful right now.

  
“We cant go to the hospital, Cas!” Sam says finally. “We just cant! He needs your blood.”

  
Castiel balks. “Why can't you go to the hospital?” He asks.

  
Sam shakes his head. “We don't have time for this! He needs blood or he's going to die!”

  
“Why can't you give him your blood?!”

  
“Because I don't _have any_!” Sam yells. Castiel flinches, he's never heard Sam yell before. “ _Pleas_ e, Cas!”

  
Castiel clenches his jaw. “After this,” He says. “You're going to explain _everything_ to me.”

  
Sam nods frantically. “Yes, yes alright. Come on!”

  
  
Castiel sits in a chair next to the bed, connected to Dean via cannula and a drip. Sam sits in a chair opposite him, watching Dean anxiously.

  
“Is he getting it fast enough?” Castiel asks, it seems like he should be getting it faster.

  
Sam nods. “It's helping.” He points to Dean's charred skin, and Castiel notices that the sticky red showing up between the burns looks less irritated than before.

  
“What's going on?” Castiel asks.

  
Sam looking at him imploringly. “When I tell you, you're going to want to leave.”

  
“I wont. I wont leave until Dean is okay.”

  
“You can't promise that.”

  
“Sam.” He says warningly.

  
Sam purses his lips, takes a deep breath. “Fine.” He says. He rubs his hand over his mouth. “Me and Dean...” He sighs again. “We're not... human.”

  
Castiel blinks. Of all the things he imagined Sam might say, all the things that sped through his head, this is not one of them.  
“What?” He says.

  
“We're not human, Cas.” Sam says again, easier this time. “Haven’t you noticed, we _never_ go out in the sun?”

  
“I... I thought you were just... night-owl types.”

  
Sam shakes his head. “We can't go out during the day, or we get burned. Bad.”

  
Castiel casts a glance at Dean, and Sam nods. “He was working in the attic and the roof collapsed. Fuckin' piece of shit house is always falling apart. He got sun on this whole half of him.” Sam gestures to the burned part. “And it's why we can't go to the hospital. They wouldn’t know what to do with us.”

  
Castiel scratches his nose with his free hand, remembering something important. “Monsters aren’t real.” He tries.

  
“Do you really believe that?” Sam asks him.

  
“Sam, if this is some kind of mental breakdown because Dean is hurt-”

  
Sam half-rolls his eyes, aborting the motion at the last minute. He opens his mouth wide, curling his lips up off of his gums. At first, there's nothing, just regular teeth. Then, slowly, Sam's canines begin to grow. They lengthen, they sharpen, until they're each about a half an inch long, needle sharp. Castiel swallows hard, his heart begins to race. They're not human. They're not human. It makes sense. He remembers the picture on the mantel, old, in which Dean had looked exactly the same. And Dean's avoidance of answering the question of his age. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

  
“Oh my god.” He says.

  
“You're not in any danger.” Sam says.

  
“Are you telling me that you're all fucking _vampires_ , Sam? Are you? Because I am _this_ close to freaking out!”

  
“Alan isn’t a vampire.” Sam offers.

  
“Who the fuck is Alan?!”

  
Sam nods at the old man, who frowns at Castiel.

  
“Oh my god. Oh my god.” Castiel takes deep breaths and lets them out slowly to keep himself from hyperventilating. He holds up a hand. “How old is Dean?” He asks.

  
“He's been 22 since the early seventies” Sam admits.

  
Castiel lets out a breath. “Okay, that's not as bad as I thought.”

  
They're quiet for a few long minutes before Castiel asks, “So, how does this work? Are you guys, like, immortal?”

  
“Not quite.” Sam tells him. “It's kind of complicated. We need blood, but we don't have any of our own. If we drink, the blood stays in our system for a while, but eventually it kind of goes stale and doesn’t work so well anymore, then we have to get more. We can be hurt by sunlight and silver, but if we have fresh blood in us we can recover.”

  
Castiel licks his lips. “Where do you get the blood?” He asks quietly.

  
“We mostly drink pig's blood.” Sam tells him. “It's got a nasty aftertaste but... we don't hurt people, Cas. You don't have to worry about that.”

  
He doesn’t have to worry. He doesn’t have to worry. There's the matter of whether or not Sam is even telling the truth, but Castiel decides to believe him.   
“Okay.” He says. “Okay.”

 

  
  
When Dean wakes up, Castiel is there, watching him. Most of Dean's skin has healed, although it looks like there might be scars. Dean looks up at him dazedly.  
“Cas,” He breathes. “Am I dead?”

  
Castiel rolls his eyes. “No, you're not dead, dumbass. You could have been though, stay away from the damn attic.”

  
Dean's eyes widen, his eyes flicker to the tube of blood connected to his arm.

  
“Sam told me everything.” Castiel tells him.

  
“Everything....?”

  
“Everything.” Sam says from the doorway. “He knows everything.”

  
Dean eyes flicker between the two of them, frightened. He starts to sit up.“Cas-”

  
“Save it.” Castiel interrupts. “So you're a vampire or whatever. I can deal.”

  
“You can... deal?”

  
“I can deal.”

  
Dean flops back down. “Wow. You're taking it surprisingly well.”

  
Castiel shrugs a shoulder. “I had a bit of a crises about twenty minutes ago, but I’m alright now.”

  
Dean sighs. “Maybe I should have told you sooner.” He muses.

  
“Yes, you should have.” Castiel says stubbornly.

  
  
After a while, Sam leaves to make dinner and Dean sits up, leaning against the headboard.

  
“Hey, Cas?” He says.

  
“Hmm?” Castiel replies.

  
“If I had told you first thing... you think we'd still be together?”

  
Castiel looks at him for a long moment. “Yes.” He says.

  
Dean nods, then goes still. “So... now that it's all out there, would you want to have dinner sometime?”

  
Castiel thinks. Yes, he would. He's older than he was last time, more independent. He has friends and hobbies now and, he feels, he's more equipped to handle a relationship. But Dean is a vampire. A vampire. Is he really going to get himself into a relationship with a vampire? He remembers the time Dean bit him on accident, how remorseful he'd been. Dean is home, safety, Castiel knows he wont hurt him, whatever he is. Yes, he thinks. Dean is good.

  
“Yes, I would.” He says.


End file.
